


A King's Throne

by skiesovergideon



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiesovergideon/pseuds/skiesovergideon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elissa wants to break in Alistair's new throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King's Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly: Dragon Age smut.

They were used to sneaking about, catching stolen moments alone where their companions wouldn’t see or hear them, and even though she was no rogue, Elissa had learned quite well how to tread silently. At Eamon’s request, they’d taken separate rooms, but those rooms were only across the hall, and there were few guards. Her careful, quiet steps were hardly necessary.

She slipped into his room and knelt beside his bed. “Alistair,” she whispered, trying, and failing, to smother the mischief in her voice. “Alistair, wake up.”

He did, but slowly, blinking dreams from his eyes before rubbing them with the heel of his hands. “Elissa?” A slow, pleased grin spread across his face, still muddled by sleep. “What are you—”

“I had an idea. Come with me.” She rose in a fluid motion, the robe she wore over her thin shift fluttering. It felt strange to be in a gown again, but she’d put a dress on after the Landsmeet to soothe poor Eamon’s beleaguered soul, and the maid took it as an invitation to lay out the shift for sleeping.

She held out her hand, and he, with a curious expression, took it. “Where are we going, my dear?” he asked, and it still thrilled her to hear the pet name.

“You’ll see.”

She let him grab a robe of his own before they left the room, and a good thing, too. He slept naked. She’d never get him out of his rooms without the robe.

They moved silently down the hall, his hand in hers, their fingers laced as she led the way. He brushed his thumb over the palm of her hand, sending little sparks of pleasure dancing through her body.

It was silly how such a little touch could affect her so much, but it was him, and so she diverted them from their goal, tugging him into a shadowed alcove.

“Eli—”

Her back touched the wall, and she reached for him, pulling his face to hers for a long, searing kiss. His lips parted easily over hers, and her tongue swept into his mouth as his hand slid into her hair and cradled her head. She stifled a moan as his other hand ran down her slide, gliding over her hip to the small of her back. He pulled her closer, and she undulated against him, craving the friction of their bodies.

The slide of silk against her legs was exquisite. The slip of his tongue in her mouth was divine. Each stroke, each touch, made pleasure burst under her skin and settle low in her abdomen, a desperate pulse that demanded satisfaction.

He drew back only so far as necessary to speak, each word brushing his lips over hers. “What are we doing?” he asked, a breath of laughter in his voice. “Are you mad?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning against him and pressing her lips to his chest in open-mouthed kisses. The hand in her hair tightened convulsively, pulling her away from his skin.

“Elissa.”

She slid her fingers over his chest, parting the robe, and laced her hands around his neck. Their foreheads bumped together, their breath mingling in the space between them.

“You trusted me at the Landsmeet.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced you made the right choice.”

A wicked grim bloomed on her face. His sharp inhalation and almost panicked expression told her he read the expression mostly right. “Let’s find out.”

His protest died before he even voiced it, a direct result of her rubbing against him as she slipped between his body and the wall. With a saucy smile, she shimmied out of the robe, draping it across one arm.

In the flickering torch light, she knew exactly how she looked. The shift was plain, white linen, and the light made it seem almost transparent. He stared at her, mouth agape, and then his jaw set.

She loved determination on him.

They moved through the living quarters on swift, silent feet, and she put a little more sway in her hips than was absolutely necessary. But it was worth it, especially when she drew up short to avoid being seen by a night guard. Alistair didn’t anticipate the stop and bumped into her from behind, and she didn’t waste the opportunity, pressing back against him.

Feeling bold, and a little stupid, nearly drunk on anticipation, she looped one hand behind his head and drew him down for a lingering kiss.

For just a moment, he lost himself long enough that his hand, on her hip to steady her, slid up to cup a breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple. She drew away slowly, meeting his gaze with a playful smile.

“Maker’s breath.”

She laughed, giving him a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth, before leaning forward to peer around the corner.

“What are we doing?”

“You’ll see,” she promised, waving her hand behind her until he took it. “Now, run.”

She pulled him across the open hall, darting inside a half-opened door. Dragging him against her just on the other side, she pressed close to the wall as a guard called out, “Did you see something?” The other said no, and the first made a disgruntled, irritated noise and muttered something about nobles and the garderobe at night.

Alistair’s lips touched her neck.

She bit her lip to keep from making any noise, startled by the affection. She hadn’t expected anything like that.

“This is insane,” he murmured against her throat, pressing her closer to the wall. One of her legs wrapped around his hips, dragging him closer, nestling him against her. He was half hard, and while Elissa wanted little more than to arouse him beyond sane measure, she couldn’t do it before they reached their destination.

“Not here,” she returned, nipping his ear, and he groaned against her skin. His fingers slid about her hips, grasping at the thin fabric of her shift. “Alistair, not here.”

He was still against her for a moment, and she felt the tension in his arms where her fingers rested on his skin. Finally, he drew back. “Wicked woman.”

For tonight, yes, without a doubt. She would not deny it.

She still didn’t quite believe she’d slipped out of her bed to put this plan into action. She didn’t quite believe they’d made it as far as they had.

She pulled him across the small room to another door, and he finally recognized where they were.

Pulling her against him, banding his arms about her abdomen, he whispered, “Are you mad?” in her ear.

“Trust me,” she repeated, and he groaned.

They went through one final door and emerged in the Great Hall, close to the raised dais on which sat his father’s throne. There were two guards at the very opposite end of the hall, and she only knew they were there because of a carefully phrased question to her chamber maid earlier. Through the darkness, she couldn’t see them. She could barely hear their mailed footsteps.

“You are mad.”

“You keep saying that.” She turned, taking both his hands in hers, and drew him to the dais.

There was no torchlight there, no light at all. They were blind in the dark, and she nearly tripped on her own feet as she took him to the throne. Her calves hit the back of it, and she stopped, running her hands over his shoulders.

“Sit,” she commanded in the softest of tones, pressing him downward as she turned.

He did so without comment, and she could picture the look on his face, the baffled confusion, the uncertainty, the lust.

She parted his legs and stepped between them, walking her fingers up his chest to his face. Touch was her sight, and when she found his face, she took it in both hands and kissed him, sweetly, gently. His fingers brushed over her arms, seeing the same way she did, and he took her waist in hand, drawing her closer as they kissed.

“Insane,” he told her, and she swallowed the sound with her mouth before lowering to her knees.

“My king,” she said against his chest. Her nails raked lightly down his chest, his muscles flexing beneath her touch, and her tongue laved a nipple. His thighs shifted around her, brushing her arms as he fought the urge to thrust against her.

Her hand traveled down, running over the crisp trail of hair that ran from his navel downward, and she heared him hiss softly as she drew one finger across his hard length. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Maker preserve me,” and she chose to ignore his words in favor of his body’s reaction.

She kissed a path across his chest, from right side to left, nipping at him and then soothing the ache with a sweep of her tongue, and her finger glided up and down, back and forth across the silky hardness of his erection. Each brush of finger sent a stab of pleasure to her own core, her body strung out on the knowledge they could be discovered at any moment, that a guard could walk up to them and find the king on his throne with his betrothed pleasuring him with hand and mouth.

She wondered only for a second how much of her mouth to use.

Curling her fingers around the base of his erection, she withdrew her mouth from his chest.

“Elissa,” he whispered, his fingers driving into her hair. He didn’t hold her back, and he had the strength to, so she proceeded, pressing a kiss to the tip of him and then taking him in her mouth.

Both of his hands were in her hair now, his nails scraping across her scalp. His visceral reactions, the spasms in his touch, gave her only pleasure as she took him as far into her mouth as she could. He thrust against her, in time with the pull of her mouth and the caress of her hand, and she took him right to the edge, until he shuddered beneath her but did not finish.

She covered his abdomen in kisses, sliding up his body, his erection caught between them and rubbing over the fabric of her shift. She was only halfway to his mouth when he jerked her the rest of the way up, claiming her lips in a hard, demanding kiss.

His tongue pressed into her mouth, swept over it and claimed it, and she climbed onto his lap, her legs on either side of his. He kept one hand in her hair, holding her against him as his other hand pulled up her shift and dipped between her legs, seeking the wet heat of her core.

Their kiss smothered her moan, but not nearly enough.

“What was that?”

They froze, his thumb on her folds, just barely entering her, and Maker did she want it, she wanted it so badly it almost hurt.

“Did you hear something?”

His teeth closed around her lower lip and tugged, and it took her entirely by surprise. She felt the hint of his smile as he brushed his lips over her cheek and eased his thumb into her, stroking just inside, just the way she liked.

Biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making noise, she pressed her face to his neck, and he pressed his to hers, and as the first guard said to the other, “Probably just some thrice tainted mice scurrying about,” he withdrew his thumb and slipped a finger inside.

All her breath came out all at once, a silent sigh against his skin as he pumped his finger into her. “Mad,” he whispered in her ear, pulling his finger back to circle her clit. “Absolutely mad.”

“Tell me you don’t love it.”

“Maker help me, I can’t.”

Reaching between them, she caught his hand and pushed it aside. He froze under her, and she went still, too, waiting. If he said no, if he didn’t want it, she would back down. They would go back to his rooms, have their fun there.

And then his fingers twined around hers, guiding her to his cock. She lowered herself onto him, biting back her cry of pleasure at just the feeling of him inside her. It was life, it was living, making love to him. Death and darkness surrounded them, pressing in at every turn, but having him insider her defied that, let them live in spite of all that.

She wrapped her arms about his neck, her lips finding his in the darkness as she rolled her hips against his. He touched her everywhere. Her cheeks, her neck, her breasts. He slid one hand over the curve of her ass, touching one finger to where they were joined from behind, and it took all her willpower not to shout with the joy of it.

Her kiss changed as her pace increased, becoming demanding and needy. She wanted more of him, all of him, wanted to brand her body with his, and his fingers dug into her hips. She’d have bruises in the morning, and they’d be badges of honor. Though she tried her best to keep relatively quiet, she stopped caring about the guards, and started caring only for the feeling of him inside her, beneath her, his arms around her.

“Alistair.” She pulled free of his kiss to gasp his name at his ear, and he groaned hers in return. “Alistair.” She twisted her hips around him, getting just the right stroke of him inside her, the right pressure and fire and burn. “Alistair.” Her body clenched around his, and she moaned, her orgasm a hard and fast thing, exploding out of the night to drag her under its rolling current.

To hell with the guards; let them hear and let them guess at who dared use a king’s throne for her pleasure.

He made a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and thrust inside her several times more before stilling.

Their bodies slick with sweat, his robe damp with perspiration and her robe clinging to her sticky skin, they remained tangled on his throne for several minutes, just breathing. Her cheek brushed his, a soft caress, and tiny gesture that could not convey the depth of her affection, and his fingers slid across the small of her back, pressing down in just the right place.

No one knew her body like he did.

At the other end of the hall, one of the guards coughed.

Alistair went rigid beneath her and, alas, it was not in a good way. “Do you think they—”

“He’s just coming down with something.” She slid off him, over his thigh, falling between his leg and the arm of the throne.

“Your coercion skills need work, my dear.” But there was a quiet laughter in his voice, and she knew he felt as exhilarated as she did.

Elissa clambered gracelessly off the throne, taking Alistair’s hand in hers as she went, and together, they made the much more arduous journey back to his rooms. Their legs didn’t seem to want to function quite properly, and every shadowed corner was an excuse to steal a kiss or a touch.

By the time they were back in his rooms, he was hard again, and she was desperate for him. They didn’t bother with the bed. She shut the door, and he pressed her against it, curving his hands around her thighs and driving into her until she cried out his name.

* * *

 

They were both late to breakfast.

Morrigan watched them with barely concealed amusement, while Zevran’s eyes wandered Elissa’s body with a touch more interest than she would normally welcome. “Interesting night?” he asked as she took a seat across from him.

“No, not really,” she said as she cut into her fish.

Alistair strode into the room a moment later and went completely still when every gaze except for Elissa’s landed on him. “Good morning,” he said slowly, and Elissa glanced his way then, amused at the way he tried to meet each person’s eyes all at the same time.

“Is it?” Morrigan asked. “I, for one, had a terrible time sleeping.”

“Oh, yes.” Leliana gestured vaguely with her fork. “There was a strange spirit wandering the halls, I think.”

“You heard it, too?” Morrigan tilted her head to one side, a theatrical expression of incredulity on her face.

“Was it saying ‘Elissa, Elissa, oh, yes?’” Zevran asked, giving Elissa another long, lingering look of appraisal.

“I hate you,” Alistair muttered as he dropped into the chair beside Elissa’s. “All of you.”

With a smile, Elissa offered Alistair a forkful of food, which he readily accepted. “Hush, you,” she said fondly. “At least now we know your father’s throne is comfortable.”

He choked, but no one else said anything to them for the remainder of the day.


End file.
